


You Took My Body Home

by amalnahurriyeh



Series: Truth May Vary (Post-Reichenbach series) [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post-Reichenbach, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amalnahurriyeh/pseuds/amalnahurriyeh
Summary: It had seemed like an easy takedown at first: apprehend target, deliver to London.  Granted, it was unusual that the orders were quite so specific about taking him alive but it just made it seem like Adam Kingston was a high value target.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrae/gifts).



> Right, well, I finished teaching yesterday so OBVIOUSLY it is writing times. I promised this little peek into the TMV-verse to abrae about a million years ago, so here it is. 
> 
> It will help if you've read [Doubt Looms Over The Mind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/779160), which is the story that proceeds this one chronologically in sequence, both to give context and because the identity of a key character might be confusing if you haven't read it.
> 
> Title from Rolling Stone, by Rueben and the Dark: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vsEJxHVM1W0

_You took my body, you took my body, you took my body home_  
_You took my body, you took my body, you took my body home_  
_It's quite a sight for my sore eyes_  
_And break my heart back into pieces_  
_A city blackout and a sea of white_  
_When all I want is to be alone._

__

_-Reuben and the Dark, Rolling Stone_

__

__

“Motherfucking fuck,” Sylvie hissed.

__

Jen could tell Sylvie was trying not to move, but she clamped one hand quickly over her wrist to help stablize her. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to wait for lidocaine.”

__

“I know, I’m being a pussy,” she said. The plane hit turbulence for a moment; Jen hovered with the needle away from Sylvie’s skin until she was sure there wasn’t more coming, and then returned to sewing the gash on her forearm. “Anyway,” she said, “I’m still in shock he was that fast.”

__

“You’re lucky he didn’t catch your hand. That shit’s hard to sew in a moving vehicle.” Jen checked the tension on the sutures. She glanced over at their target; he was tranquilized and in five-point restraints at the back of the plane. Albert was sitting in the seat next to him with an ice pack pressed to his forehead and his headphones in; George was flopped across two seats further towards the front, cradling his dislocated-and-relocated shoulder. Jen’s cracked rib was aching, but she’d get Sylvie to tape it later. Thank Christ Inji had stayed behind to get the plane ready; if she’d been injured they’d have had to call for backup to fly home, and she’s pretty sure that would have gotten them all fired. SIS didn’t like people who couldn’t clean up after themselves. Jen pulled the last suture closed. “Right, this is done. Take some codeine and fall the fuck asleep.”

__

“What about you?” Sylvie said, rolling her neck. 

__

“Too hyped to do anything,” Jen said with a shrug. “I’ll take a turn watching the target, I guess.” Thirteen hours to Diego Garcia, then another seven to Mina Salman, then eight to London; flying all the way around the world was a pain in the ass, but at least it would give them time to figure out what the fuck had happened. 

__

It had seemed like an easy takedown at first: apprehend target, deliver to London. Granted, it was unusual that the orders were quite so specific about taking him alive—“termination is not an option. Target should be released rather than terminated if apprehension fails”—but it just made it seem like Adam Kingston was a high value target. He’d been an easy mark, all told: went to the same coffee shop every day, ate lunch at one of two restaurants, worked as a freelance writer so didn’t have co-workers and wouldn’t be missed, etc. He didn’t go to the gym, didn’t look like he was secretly doing pressups in his free time—they should have just been able to stick a gun on him at some point and push him into a van and been done with it.

__

Jen should have known something was going down when she realized he was turning towards an empty alleyway. How the hell he’d figured out they were tailing him was a mystery, but when she’d come up behind him he’d turned before she’d even been able to do the cover bit of asking for directions, elbow in her ribs pushing her back. The rest of the team had been there within seconds, and then it had been four on one, but the only reason they were all here is because Albert had a taser and Sylvie had the tranqs ready before he got his head back together. The bastard was tall, and wiry, and fought like a demon; he fought like his life depended on it. 

__

She tapped out Albert, who went to go hang with Inji, and checked Kingston’s vitals. When she was done, she glanced up at his face, and startled to see his eyes were slitted open. OK, so apparently they needed to dose him harder. “Um,” she said.

__

His eyes didn’t open any further, but the focus in them was obvious.

__

“Yeah, you’re on a plane. Don’t think I can tell you where we’re going,” she said.

__

He blinked slowly.

__

“You, uh. You need anything? Injuries you need attended to or anything?”

__

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, and she nearly jumped. Because she’d listened to Adam Kingston order flat whites and kabobs and pad kee mao for two weeks, and she knew his voice backwards and forwards, and this wasn’t the same voice, at all—it was deeper, and flatter, and full-on RP, no trace of the Welsh accent. Who the fuck was this guy? 

__

“Right, okay then,” she said, and patted his hand for lack of anything else to do.

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He stared at her hand on his for a moment. “Nurse or doctor?”

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“Uh. Nurse.”

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“Hmm,” he said, and closed his eyes. 

__

She settled in for the ride.

__

***

__

George woke her at Mina Salman. She spent five minutes on the tarmac, absorbing the smell of exhaust and sand and salt, and then went back in the plane. Kingston was awake again, observing everything. He’d been silent and either watchful or asleep her entire shift, and George, who was still outside finishing his cigarette, said it had been the same for his. “Hey,” she said to him, rolling her neck. “You want anything? I think we could let you out for some fresh air if you want. Or transfer you to a seat for the next leg.” 

__

“Don’t unrestrain me,” he said, in that flat, flat voice.

__

“Why not?”

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“Because I’ll kill you,” he said. 

__

She raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t make it ten feet before someone taised you again, you know that, right?”

__

“I’m sure.”

__

She appraised him. “Why did you tell me? Rather than just, you know. Saying yes.”

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“I don’t particularly want to kill you,” he said, eyes drifting shut.

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“So why would you?”

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“Said the frog to the scorpion.”

__

She thought about that for a moment. “Want a cigarette, then?” She’d seen him smoking in his flat enough to bet he was gasping. 

__

His lips curved slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

__

***

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“Still gonna kill me if I unbuckle you?” Jen asked when they were thirty minutes from touchdown in London.

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Kingston nodded without opening his eyes.

__

“Right. Got a tranquilizer preference, then?”

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“Benzos are a personal favorite,” Kingston said. “But ketamine would be acceptable as well.”

__

She ruffled her fingers through her med kit and pulled out a bottle of clonazepam. “I was hoping you’d be able to walk out of here. You’re a heavy fucker, you know?”

__

“Sorry to disappoint.”

__

She palpated the veins in his arm. All of them were shit; apparently his drug preferences were very well established, then. Back of his hand was still good, though. She slipped the needle in. “Thirty minutes to ground.”

__

“Right,” he said, and let his eyes close.

__

***

__

George and Inji bumped Kingston’s wheelchair down the plane steps. They’d been directed to the hangar, and there was an ambulence waiting outside, as well as a black car and a couple Jeeps, which she assumed were for them. Jen shouldered her pack and headed down after them, figuring she should tell the paramedics what was in his system before he went wherever he was going.

__

She hung back a minute, though, because the black car’s door opened and, holy shit, Mycroft Holmes stepped out. She’d seen him once or twice at briefings, but he was at the top of the heap, she wasn’t even sure who he reported to. Maybe no one, maybe the queen or something. Jen nudged Sylvie who had come to stand next to her. “Lookit that,” she said.

__

“Well shit,” Sylvie said, and folded her arms.

__

George parked the wheelchair, and beat a hasty retreat before he had to make eye contact with Holmes, who was coming up to face Kingston. Slowly, Kingston opened his eyes, and regarded Holmes through his drugged haze. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

__

“Seven years,” Holmes said. “A postcard would have been sufficient.”

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“You had my note,” Kingston said, head wobbling a little. 

__

Holmes winced. “Such as it was.” He looked down at the handle of his umbrella for a moment, and if that wasn’t a tell Jen didn’t deserve her job. He looked back at the man in the chair. “I’ve made arrangements for your convalescence in a government facility.”

__

“And for my termination?” Kingston closed his eyes.

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“That will not be necessary,” Holmes said firmly.

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“It will,” Kingston said, and fought his eyes open again. “I’m not…I’m wrong, Mycroft.” He clenched his fists. 

__

“Then we’ll fix you,” Holmes said, with a lift of his chin. He stepped forward then, right next to Kingston and, slowly, reached out to touch him, hand settling on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, little brother,” he said, so quietly as to barely be heard. 

__

Kingston looked up at Holmes then. His slow blink might have been the drugs, but Holmes acted like he knew what it meant. He gestured to the paramedics, and then turned to the team. “Medical officer, please brief the ambulance team. All of you back to Vauxhall for debrief after.”

__

A collection of mumbled yes-sirs, and Jen was handing her bag to George to put in the Jeep. Her handover to the paramedics was fast, and she kept herself from watching Kingston loaded into the ambulance, or showing her shock when Holmes climbed in the back after him. She climbed into the back of the jeep next to Inji, who had her phone out and was checking Man United results. “Well,” she said, leaning her head back. “That’s done with.”

__

“Yeah,” Inji said. “Fuckin’ weird one.”

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“Hmm,” Jen said, and let the movement of the car soothe her as they pulled out into the grey light of day. Fucking weird one indeed. 

__

I mean, who would have guessed Holmes would have a brother?

__


End file.
